Hey Peoples,
I hope you all have been enjoying the deluge of reading material. I've been getting all of my stories up on Lit--even the ones I forgot about. Ehem, like this one.
A tiny bit of context. This was a lifetime ago in another world where I decided to try my hand at MC romances because who didn't go through the MC romance phase? But I never shared it anywhere. And I mean ANYWHERE.
But I'm older now and I guess wiser and can look back and shrug and laugh and say, "It's a story of its time."
So, I invite you to read my (yet again, unedited) MC romance with Kit-Kat and Solomon.
Best,
RSP
--
Chapter One
Kat pushed open the swinging doors of the only other place she called home and was greeted by the smell of fried foods, tobacco, and the grim faces of every member of the Devil's Hitmen Motorcycle Club.
It's true.
Kat could see it etched in the faces around the bar, members that had been with the club since their president, Jamison, had formed it over ten years ago. She could see from the tightly wound muscles, drawn faces, and watery eyes of every member. Well, almost every member. As always, Solomon Parker was the exception.
Despite knowing that he was dangerous and about as good for Kat as a root canal, she was drawn to him. Drawn to blue eyes the color of rainwater, hair as black as night, and a body tightened and muscled with the sort of strength you didn't find at a gym.
Solomon Parker, number one suspect in Jamison's murder.
Kat growled into her mind as she was engulfed in her first--but not at all last--hug of the night.
"He's dead, Kat!" Mindy, Jamison's wife, wailed as she wrapped tightly in a fierce hug and dampened her gray t-shirt with tears. "Jamison's dead! "
Kat embraced the woman back just as fiercely as every eye in the bar looked to her, seeking her out. They wanted a leader--needed one who would continue on with the traditions Jamison had set out for them. They looked at her, because they knew she was that person.
However, Kat's eyes remained on Solomon, following his every move, taking note of everyone he talked to. She might have a serious case of lust for the guy, but Kat wouldn't let that impair her. Solomon had made it clear he didn't like Jamison, made it clear that he had a specific vision of how the club should operate, and made it very clear where he thought Kat belonged.
On a shiver, she closed her eyes and relaxed into the next hug. Solomon had made it very clear that he wanted to be president of the Devil's Hitmen and he wanted her wrapped around him, screaming his name, fucking him with an abandon only a man who knew his power could give her.
But it was wrong--he was wrong. Kat reminded herself the same thing she had reminded herself nine years ago when she joined the gang and first saw Solomon. The man was trouble with a capital T, and if she wanted any hope of calming her club members and becoming the new president, she'd stay away from him.
***
Kat splashed cool water on her face and rubbed at her eyes. She was physically and emotionally exhausted. Not only had she dealt with Jamison's grief stricken wife, but every single member of the Devil's Hitmen. They'd all turned to her, seeking her out.
It wasn't like Kat had ever been a warm and fuzzy person--she wasn't. She preferred being out on the range testing out the latest firearms than consoling anyone. Kat didn't really do people, as strange as that was. She was--at her core--an introvert and independent to boot.
Relationships were not her forte, especially the romantic kind. Kat much preferred to pick a guy up at a bar, have hot, sweaty sex as his place, then hightail it home to catch the last few minutes of whatever late night talk show there was. Sex was a stress reliever. It was fun, exciting, and necessary for Kat. But, that's all it was.
Sighing loudly, she reached for a paper towel but her hand came up against a hard male body instead. Wayward fingers traced over rock hard pecs before Kat could control herself.
She'd know that body anywhere, had watched the man straddle a bike like he'd been born riding, watched him use women like tissue papers and climb his way up the ladder any way he could--by fair means, or foul.
"Solomon Parker, " Kat blew out as gusty breath as she pulled her hand back and wiped them off on her jeans. Screw paper towels!
"Kathy Sullivan, " Solomon returned in that slow southern drawl that lit a girls panties on fire. Kat had the same accent, but it didn't have anywhere near the same impact on the ears.
"Want to tell me why you're in the ladies' restroom?" Kat turned away from the sink and arched a wet brow at him.
A slow laugh was his only response as he took a step closer to her and made Kat tilt her head up. She wasn't short, but Solomon was a large man. At six foot five the whole damn world was short to him.
"I wanted to say how sorry I am that we lost Jamison. He was a good man."
A good man, but a mediocre leader.
Cocking her hip against the sink and hearing the metal of her gun meet the porcelain, Kat crossed her arms and looked him square in the eye. "You kill him?"
Stormy blue eyes met hers as Solomon took another step closer and leaned down until Kat could feel his breath tickle her lips. "I wouldn't tell you even if I did, Kit-Kat."
"Stop calling me Kit-Kat!" Kat snapped as her eyes sparked with indignation. Nine years later and the bastard still called her that nickname. He was the only man in the club who'd given her a nickname even though they'd never slept together. Usually men liked to call her "sugar" or "baby" after they'd fucked and at that point Kat would already be out the door and three steps away from her bike.
